


Self-Improvement

by Felicia_Rottingstone



Series: The Heart of a Saint [1]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: Body Image, Canon-Typical Behavior, Gen, Weight training, if you squint you can see hints of Boss x Carlos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26939143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felicia_Rottingstone/pseuds/Felicia_Rottingstone
Summary: After spending five years in a coma, Boss hits the gym, determined to become stronger than ever.
Series: The Heart of a Saint [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1069103
Kudos: 4





	Self-Improvement

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly have no idea where I'm going with this. I just thought, "How much weight training would it take to recover from a five-year coma?" and then ran with it.

Driving into the disfigured remains of my old neighborhood was deeply unsettling, but Carlos had assured me that Samson had been able to hold onto his garage during the rebuild. Sure enough, while Freckle Bitch’s and Forgive and Forget were both gone, Samson’s garage was where it had always been, albeit sans the vulgar graffiti that had once adorned the front facade. Maybe it had been scrubbed clean, or maybe the doors had just been replaced. It definitely didn’t look as seedy as it had last time I’d seen it, but at least it didn’t look as whitewashed as the rest of Mission Beach.

The entrance to the office was locked, the windows dark, so I took a chance and banged on the main doors. “Yo, chero. You there? It’s your favorite booster, come back from the dead.”

For a moment, I heard nothing. Then the door started to rise, the cacophonous scraping of metal an old, familiar sound that I’d forgotten. Inside, the dim lights revealed a dark-skinned man with a closely cropped hair and a wide, startled expression.

“I really thought they were pulling my leg when the papers said you’d escaped,” he said. “I thought, who the fuck gets blown up and lives, let alone breaks out of prison on the heels of a five-year coma? But here you are. And your face ain’t even jacked up from the burns.”

“Samson?” I asked, just to be sure. The long-haired hippie I’d known from before shared a strong resemblance to the man who stood in front of me now, but it wasn’t strong enough that I could be sure this guy wasn’t actually Samson’s uncle or brother or something. “You do something to your hair?”

“Apparently, I gave it all to you,” he joked, then gestured for me to step inside. “So, how can I help you? Read to get back into business?”

“You’re damn right I am,” I confirmed. “I got a lot of ground to cover before I’m even close to where I was before this. But that’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh?”

“I got my hands on a Halberd.”

“Well, I don’t have a buyer lined up, but I can probably break it down and sell the parts.”

“The fuck you will,” I protested. “I ain’t gonna sell her. Ese carro es mi charnel.”

“Huh?”

“I’m the buyer, baboso,” I clarified. “I need her painted and fixed up until she’s competition ready. If you can make her indestructible, do that too.”

Samson let out a long, low whistle. “Halberds aren’t meant to be getaway cars. That level of customization is gonna cost you a pretty penny. You got any money left over from before you died?”

“Man, you know I’m good for it,” I said, waving my hand dismissively. “Plus, I’m still gonna get that list from you of the cars you need.”

“Look, I’m glad you’re back and all, and I really do hope you’re as good as you were back then, but let’s not bullshit each other. You look… uh, delicate,” he held up his hands defensively as I squared my shoulders and narrowed my eyes. “I’m just being honest. Five years doing jack shit takes a toll on the body, and my business can’t handle the risk of an IOU unless I know you still got the skills to pay it back.”

“Fine, give me your goddamn list. I’ll get your fucking cars, pendejo,” I muttered. He walked over to a tool bench and scribbled some things down on a scrap of paper.

“I can take the car and start work on it in the meantime, but I won’t make it a priority until I know you’re still the same bad motherfucker you were before, and it stays here until you’ve got the money.” I snatched the paper out of his hands, my scowl making him flinch. “It ain’t personal. It’s just business.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I groaned. 

“You want the address for my gym? Bulking up a bit might make a difference.”

“Thanks for the tip,” I said flatly, then walked away.

By the time I got back to the mission, I was still irritated. Mostly because Samson had been right. I wasn’t as strong as I had been. I didn’t look as intimidating anymore. I needed to change that.

I found Pierce at a card table he’d set up next to the main staircase. Like usual, he had his computer opened and was typing away, pausing periodically to jot something down in a notebook. He wasn’t as big as Johnny, but he wasn’t scrawny, either.

“Vato, you work out?” I asked. He looked up, startled.

“Is that a pick-up line?” The look I gave him made him draw back a bit. Perhaps I didn’t look like I could beat the shit out of someone anymore, but my reputation as a psychopath wasn’t for nothing. “Uh, I mean, yeah, sometimes.”

“What do you do?”

“To work out?”

“No, to jack-off,” I quipped. 

“I lift weights sometimes,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t have a routine or anything like that. I think Shaundi goes to the gym a bunch, though.”

“No, I don’t wanna do any of that yoga-pilates bullshit,” I dismissed. “If I set up one of the back rooms as a gym, you think people would use it?”

“Sure,” he confirmed. “If it comes with canonization. Gym memberships are expensive, and I don’t go because it’s out of the way.”

“I think I’ll put it next to the shooting range,” I mused, already starting to tune him out.

“We have a shooting range?”

“We will,” I answered. “You seen Carlos?”

“You just missed him. He headed topside right before you came down.”

I turned and headed back up the steps, not even tossing a see-you-later over my shoulder. When I got up to ground level and stepped out onto the parking lot, I was expecting it to be empty, Carlos having already left. Instead, he was standing in front of his car, the hood popped open, a smear of black grease down one cheek that drew my eye. I shook my head, ignoring the impulse to wipe it off for him, and called out.

“Hey, Boss,” he greeted in return, a wide smile spreading across his face. “You get your car sorted?”

“I’m working on it,” I deflected. “You know of any gyms the Brotherhood uses as a front?”

He thought for a moment, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe his face, smearing the black smudge. My eyes snapped to the exposed skin of his taut stomach, the lines of his hips disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweats.

“I don’t know if it’s a front, but there’s at least one that’s got a lot of customers in red.”

“Bueno,” I responded, forcing myself to meet his eyes. “I need a bunch of gym equipment. De choto.”

He nodded his head in understanding. “No hay bronca. You want in, or should I handle this myself?”

I shook my head. “I’ve got a list of cars to boost, and making money for us is my first priority, but I’ll text Johnny to give you a hand.”

“I can do it,” he insisted. 

“You ever knocked over a gym before?” I asked incredulously. He closed his mouth. “I don’t need you getting dead over a few dumbbells. You haven’t pissed me off that much yet. Necesitas paciencia, chero. There’s plenty of time to impress me later.”

He nodded reluctantly while I pulled out my phone and texted Gat. “Why a gym?”

“Gangbangers need something to do on their downtime,” I answered. “Otherwise they’ll get high all the time, and Shaundi is the only pothead functional enough to do anything while baked.”

“I don’t know, I can think of a few other… divertimentos that feel as good as getting high,” he protested, grinning at me cheekily. I rolled my eyes.

“Just get me the equipment, Mendoza.”

“Como desées, mi Jefa.”


End file.
